“I might have something.” Bastian retrieved his bag and pulled out his handheld radio-vision screen. “Would this work?”
Zara snatched the device from him, flipped it on, and twisted the knob until she reached Channel Seven.
“What do we have to watch?” Bastian asked.
“This. Look!”
Static crinkled on the screen, but Zara saw a cheering crowd through the fuzziness. There were hundreds of people in the throng — four hundred or five hundred — and each one had a raised fist in the air while gunshots blasted over the phone’s tiny speakers. Zara’s heart marched proudly at the sight, and she wondered how many people would watch this very broadcast tonight. Maybe even the Führer would be one of them.
“This can’t be Channel Seven.” Bastian’s brows creased. “The news should be on at this hour.”
“Not tonight. The Alliance broke into the broadcast. They’re attacking Camp Hammerstein.”
Surprise shone in Bastian’s eyes. “I visited there with my father once. I met some of the soldiers….”
His voice tapered off as the camera panned to a gray-haired woman who held a megaphone in her hands.
“My fellow citizens!” the woman cried, dressed in all black. “The Revolutionary Alliance sends its greetings!”
“That has to be Celia Farragut,” Zara said, awed. This was the woman who had led the rebels for the last decade and who had masterminded Operation Burning Eagle. “She’s the head of the Alliance.”
Bastian nodded but said nothing, his gaze strapped to the screen. The rebels whooped their approval at Farragut’s words, and the camera swept over their faces — most of them so young that they couldn’t be much older than Zara.
“Tonight, we celebrate an Alliance victory,” Farragut cried. “Camp Hammerstein now burns to ruins!”
The lens turned sharply to the right, and both Bastian and Zara sucked in their breaths. Behind the rebel crowd, Camp Hammerstein roasted in bright orange flames, spreading over its five main buildings and toward the tall trees that surrounded the property. The entire camp had crumbled to the ground, and thick plumes of smoke rose from its bones.
“They took it over,” Zara whispered. The Alliance had actually taken the camp.
The lens pointed back at Farragut. “Bring me the Nazi dog!” she shouted.
Seconds later, three rebels dragged a Nazi soldier forward, his hands bound behind his back. Farragut pointed at him. “In front of me, I have a guard who has surrendered to the Alliance. A German coward!”
The crowd erupted, shouting “German coward” over and over again until they drowned out Farragut. Long seconds passed before they quieted; then Farragut placed the megaphone in front of the frightened soldier’s face.
“Renounce the Führer!” she spat at him. “Renounce the Empire!”
The soldier tried to speak, but he could only stutter a pitiful “Please!” The camera zeroed in on his ghost-pale cheeks.
“Renounce the Führer!” Farragut shouted again.
“I — I renounce him!” the soldier sobbed. He looked close to Bastian’s age, perhaps a bit older, maybe nineteen or twenty. “And the E-Empire. I renounce it, too!”
Farragut nodded, looking quite pleased, but that didn’t stop her from pulling a pistol from her holster. Zara stared at the gun, then at the soldier, then back again. She didn’t know what was going on. Would Farragut shoot the soldier? Even after he had surrendered? Farragut must have her reasons….
“Will she kill him?” Bastian said, his eyes wide. “On national television?”
“But —” But this is war. There are no rules, Zara thought. The Nazis had slaughtered thousands of rebels, even if they surrendered, even if they begged. And even if they had children, like her mother. “Think about your Opa. He was arrested by Nazi soldiers like this one.”
Bastian reached for the dog tags that used to hang around his neck and nodded grimly. They turned their attention back to the screen.
“Mercy!” the soldier cried. “I beg of you!”
Farragut racked the slide and aimed the gun at his temple. “Mercy?”
“Yes, mercy!” The soldier’s eyes grew so wide that Zara could see the whites of them. He sobbed again. “Mutter!”
Mother. He was crying for his mother. Zara’s heart cringed as he cried out again, but she reminded herself that he was a Nazi. He could have arrested men like her uncle or killed women like Mrs. Talley — and he could have done both with a grin on his face. She couldn’t allow herself to feel a drop of sympathy for him.
“Did the Nazis show mercy when they bombed our cities?” Farragut paced around the soldier, always keeping the gun at his head. “Did the Nazis show us mercy when our children starved? When they destroyed America? Did they?” She kicked him. “Did they?”
The soldier spluttered.
“Coward,” she growled.
“I surrendered! What more must I —”
Farragut pulled the trigger. Blood spurted over her clothes, dotting the camera lens, and the dead soldier slumped to the ground. Bastian winced and turned away, but Zara kept her eyes on the screen, unable to look away.
“There will be no mercy for the Empire!” Farragut shouted.
The crowd’s volume rose in a great crescendo, and the same three words overtook the masses. “Freedom, or death! Freedom, or death!”
Farragut joined in.
“Freedom, or death!”
Fists rose into the air, pumping together as one. “Freedom, or death! Freedom, or death!”
“Join us, our fellow citizens! Our fellow Americans! For the Alliance! For the —”
Her speech cut off abruptly. The camera jostled from left to right before it focused on the crowd breaking apart, running in all directions. A few of the rebels pointed above their heads, and the lens swung upward to show three large shadows moving across the darkening sky.
“They’re sending in bombers!” someone yelled. “Fall back! Fall back!”
An ear-shattering blast exploded by the fence. Another explosion detonated near the camera, sending an awful bang into Zara’s ears. The picture soon turned to static, then black.
Zara went numb. She shook the device, silently begging for the feed to return, but it stayed blank. Bastian finally reached over and pried the machine from her fingers.
“The Nazis sent in bombers,” Zara said, her voice lifeless. Were all of the rebels dead? What about Garrison? He said he was going to be at the attack. What happened to Farragut?
Bastian didn’t reply. He only placed a hand on her shoulder.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!” Zara cried. Garrison had just sat in her living room, his face bright as he laid out the Alliance’s plan. But now, it looked like this attack had turned into another Mission Metzger. And that made Zara’s chest hurt. “This should’ve been our big chance.”
“Chance for what?” Bastian said softly.
“To fight the Nazis. To get rid of them.”
He stepped back. “It was only one raid. How would that get rid of them? Unless there’s something else …”
Zara nodded but didn’t explain further. It didn’t matter anymore. Now that the mission at Camp Hammerstein had collapsed, there would be no supplies to carry out the next attack on Fort Goering. There would be no march on Neuberlin.
“We could find them,” Bastian said.
Zara glanced up at him, confused.
“We could find the Alliance. We could help them, couldn’t we?” That dogged look had returned to his eyes. “I can treat the wounded. You could help them with your powers.”
“There might not be much of an Alliance left,” she said. “Didn’t you see what happened?”
“They wouldn’t have sent in all of their forces for one mission. That’s a simple rule of battle strategy. But they probably could use our help.”
Zara couldn’t believe he was saying these things. Bastian had told her dozens of times that he wanted to join the Alliance, but now
he was talking about running away. And she couldn’t believe that she was the one hesitating. But she had to hesitate, for Uncle Red’s sake.
“I can’t leave until my uncle gets better,” she told him. She wondered if she would be taking up Bastian’s offer if her uncle weren’t sick. She had been waiting her whole life for this opportunity. Now that it was here, would she be as brave as she thought she was?
“That’s right. Your uncle.” The fire in Bastian’s eyes receded. His shoulders slumped inward. “My mother, too.”
“We could still help the Alliance from Greenfield. We could gather information. Find more recruits,” Zara offered. Maybe they couldn’t join the rebels right now, but they could make a difference here in their town.
“I think we could.” Bastian’s gaze searched hers. “Together, then?”
She nodded. “Together.”
Before Bastian returned home, the two of them agreed to meet the next day to discuss their plans. Zara still couldn’t quite wrap her head around the idea of working with Bastian — even if it was on the Alliance’s behalf — but this was a chance for both of them to do something. This was their chance to fight back.
And Zara could certainly wrap her head around that.
After Bastian left, Zara hurried to her uncle’s bedroom, the images of Camp Hammerstein flickering through her thoughts again. The bombs. The screams. She hoped Garrison and Farragut had escaped. There was no guarantee that they had fallen at Camp Hammerstein, but doubt rolled through Zara anyway, like a Nazi tank. She had seen the explosions. It would have been nearly impossible to outrun all of those. Hopelessness sank into the pit of her stomach. It had taken years for the Alliance to bounce back from Mission Metzger — how long would it take for them to recover from this one?
Finally, at nearly ten o’clock, Uncle Red stirred. “Zara,” he rasped.
She sprang up toward him, resting her hand against his head. Some of the color had returned to his cheeks, and his forehead now felt cool to the touch, but he still looked so weak. “How are you feeling?”
“Good as new,” he croaked, giving her a half smile. “Sleeping has helped.”
“Are you thirsty?” She stood to fetch him some water, but his fingers curled around her wrist.
“What’s wrong? You’re pale as a sheet.”
Zara didn’t want to burden him with the broadcast, not when he was recovering, but the story spilled out of her anyway. She told him about the broadcast, the bombers; and Uncle Red let out a long breath.
“I guess you were right,” she choked out. “They weren’t ready for this mission, and now everyone is gone.”
“We don’t know that for certain. The Alliance may not have used all of their forces.”
“You didn’t see it, Uncle Red. Garrison —” She could barely finish his name.
“Let’s hope for the best. Garrison is more resourceful than you think.” Uncle Red scooted off his bed, wobbling on his feet before he righted himself. He waved off Zara’s protests for him to lie back down. “There might be something on TV.”
“I don’t want to listen to what the Nazis have to say.” She took him by the elbow, steadying him, wishing she hadn’t told him about the broadcast. “And you really need to get back to bed.”
“We need to know the fallout of the attack. I hate to say that, but we do.”
He twiddled with the television knobs to find the news station, then took a seat on the windowsill until a commercial about skin-whitening cream ended.
“We now bring breaking news from Camp Hammerstein,” said the newscaster. “A group of terrorists known as the Revolutionary Alliance brutally attacked the camp at 1900 hours. Over a hundred soldiers were killed, but forces from nearby Fort Wilhelm destroyed the rebels with superior air and ground power. All Alliance survivors will be justly executed if found guilty by the SS.”
“Justly?” Zara said, but Uncle Red placed a finger over his lips, shushing her.
The newscaster continued, “In a press release from Neuberlin, Reichsmarschall Baldur denounced the raid as ‘inexcusable’ and then lauded the Nazi forces who struck back against the rebels. A heightened security warning has been put into place across the Eastern American Territories. The following parameters will come to pass immediately: Random checks will be performed at the discretion of local Nazi officials. If you have any information about the rebels, contact your local Nazi office immediately and you will be eligible for a reward. Lastly, persons suspected of treasonous activities will be imprisoned; and if found guilty, these persons will be executed and their families will be taken to the labor camps.”
Once the newscaster moved on to a story about a failed coup to overthrow Mussolini III, Uncle Red turned off the television, but Zara blinked at the empty screen.
“They’re going to imprison family members, too? Even children?” she said, fuming.
“Baldur must want to stomp out the rebellion before it gains any more ground.”
“Like he hasn’t done enough already.” Zara waited for her uncle to begin a diatribe on how the Alliance should have been more cautious, that they hadn’t been ready, but Uncle Red surprised her with what he said next.
“We’ll see what happens. The Alliance may not be as damaged as the news makes it out to be. And it’s clear by the Nazis’ reaction that they didn’t suspect the attack — and they’re angry at getting caught off guard.”
Zara wondered why he was being so optimistic. Maybe he wanted to put on a brave face for her sake, which somehow made her feel worse.
“Did you try to control your new ability today?” Uncle Red asked, changing the subject. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of much help.” He coughed, still looking worn from the accident yesterday, and Zara felt a tug of guilt.
She was about to tell him that she was making headway on her lightning — the one bright point of her day — but her answer was interrupted by a rapid-fire knock on the front door. Her head whipped toward the sound, wondering if Bastian had returned, but he had to be smart enough not to use the front door at this hour.
They headed downstairs with Uncle Red shuffling slowly, and they had nearly reached the bottom of the steps when the front door flew open. Was kicked open, to be more precise. A trio of Nazi soldiers flooded into the house — two armed guards, along with Sentinel Achen — and they were followed by Colonel Eckhart.
Zara’s breath locked in her throat as she met the Colonel’s hard eyes, so different from his son’s. Uncle Red stepped into the front entrance. “Colonel Eckhart,” he said stiffly. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Sentinel Achen lunged forward and slapped Uncle Red with the back of his hand. “You dare address the Colonel in that tone!”
Uncle Red stumbled back from the blow, and Zara tried to brace him, but she stumbled with her rolled ankle. The soldiers laughed at the debacle.
“You can search the house,” said Uncle Red, rubbing the spot where the Sentinel had struck him. “We still don’t have anything to hide.”
“Oh, is that so?” Colonel Eckhart cocked his head, amused. His mouth tightened into a sly smile. “Perhaps you don’t have anything to hide here, but we received an anonymous tip that recently puts you at Fort Goering. It appears you have a penchant for strolling around my fort, along with an accomplice.”
Garrison, Zara thought. She tried to step forward and ask who this anonymous tipper could be, but Uncle Red held her back. Dread filled her stomach at the glee in the Colonel’s eyes. Her uncle had always been so careful on missions, but maybe someone had spotted him and Garrison while they surveyed the fort.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mein Herr,” said Uncle Red. His voice was steady, but Zara saw the quivering in his hands.
Now it was Colonel Eckhart’s turn to strike him, straight across the cheek. “Tsk, tsk. We’ve questioned our witness thoroughly.”
Uncle Red’s eyes flared wide, but his face remained placid. “And who is this witness, sir?”
“I wo
n’t reveal that.” The Colonel grinned. “That would defeat the purpose of an ‘anonymous tip,’ wouldn’t it? Now then. Where is the man who was with you, hmm? Your accomplice?”
Zara went still. She had no idea if Colonel Eckhart was bluffing or if this witness was indeed real, but it didn’t matter now. The Colonel’s hackles were raised, and he held all of the cards. Her gaze shot toward her uncle, wondering what they should do, but he kept his eyes straight on Colonel Eckhart.
“As I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Uncle Red.
“You will not lie to me!” the Colonel burst out. He launched a fist into Uncle Red’s gut.
Uncle Red doubled over, gasping from the pain. Zara reached out to help him, but he pushed her away, shaking his head. “Stay out of this,” he groaned. “Please.”
“Uncle Red —” Zara started, but the Colonel interrupted her.
“Arrest them!” Colonel Eckhart nodded at his guards, who leapt into motion at his command. Sentinel Achen seized Zara by the arm, restraining her, while the other soldiers cuffed Uncle Red’s wrists. Frantically, Zara struggled against the Sentinel’s loathsome hands, but it was no use.
“Don’t you touch her!” Uncle Red shouted, but he was silenced when a soldier punched him in the jaw. Then kneed him in the stomach.
“Stop it!” Zara cried. Heat swirled on her palms as anger surged inside her. The air charged around her hands, but she fought the hungry urge to let loose her lightning at the guards. She could electrocute them all, her uncle included.
Sentinel Achen leaned down to her ear and said, “Careful, Mischling. I’d enjoy shooting you.” His right hand roamed up from her hip toward her rib cage, then higher still. Disgust coursed through Zara, but she couldn’t use her powers and she couldn’t twist free from his grasp. As his hand climbed upward, she pulled her head back and spat right in the Sentinel’s face.
Cruel fury twisted his features, but before he could react, one of the other soldiers was stepping forward, swinging his gun at Zara in a wide arc.
Crack.
The first strike smashed into Zara’s head, splattering blood from her nose.
The Only Thing to Fear Page 14